


Sasha Spiralling Away

by quiet_nikai



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternating Pronouns for Michael | The Distortion, Archivist Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), F/F, F/M, Gerard Keay Lives, M/M, Multi, Vast Avatar Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, dark avatar gerard keay, other entity alignments
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:28:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26702956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quiet_nikai/pseuds/quiet_nikai
Summary: Dreamhopper.Tags to be changed or added as story progresses. Currently rewritten for timeline changes.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood & Sasha James, Martin Blackwood & Tim Stoker, Oliver Banks/Gerard Keay/Michael | The Distortion
Comments: 3
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin is left in the dark. Sasha dream-hops slightly.

Martin regretted the shellfish.

He was already a week away from his coworkers, a bad case of ‘both ends’, and Helen had to be away and thus unable to give him his long cable back.

His phone died somewhere in the corner and with a miserable sound every little nook and cranny turned pitch black, lights going out in a dizzying fashion.

Everything stopped humming and Martin's ears rang with silence.

The Wittery case was about blown fuses and the subsequent darkness. Martin didn't bother to check the ones in his flat. It should have been brighter there, even without any light.

Martin just turned over and covered his head with pillow in miserable silence.

Sasha promised to show up but he didn't remember whether he had given her his address. He doubted that he did and doubted that he didn't.

They told him that she would show up. He believed shem. Dehydration was hard to combat and it was entirely her fault for him getting the suspicious shellfish.

Bun would not even think about getting shellfish without Sasha egging him on. Martin fell asleep without the comfort of buzzing noise.

* * *

He never dreamt but when bun did, it was violent.

Water and darkness all around him. Safety.

Then cold grabbing him by an ankle, dragging him down, down, down. Into the spikes. Into the mouth of a Leviathan, a kraken eating ships, of an undulating god.

Into the insignificance, being forgotten no matter what will be done, into the nothing.

Ae reached out and a strong hand of a tall woman brought him onto the shore.

“Hello Martin!” Sasha smiled. A door was open behind her. “You never told me your address.”

“Hi Sasha. What is going on?”

“I can't hear you in the dreams but I have a scrap of paper on myself and maybe a pen.” She reached into a large pocket of her overalls. “Here they are. Could you please write down your address?”

This was strange but that was Sasha. And that was just a dream. There was absolutely no danger.

And so he wrote down buns address and went on a long walk on a shore, the water running away from him, the skies pink and purple and amber. Air tasting of inevitability and of that something that was always around Tim and Jon when bun tried to talk to them both.

* * *

He was awoken by a doorbell.

“Door's unlocked!”

He heard familiar steps of Sasha. Bun always remembered footsteps of people around aem, an old habit that he desperately held onto.

“It looks like an inside of a tomb.”

“Were you inside of a tomb?” Martin made a miserable attempt on a joke. He heard Sasha smile.

“I can imagine stuff. It's just too dark to function here.”

“I feel too bad to function.” he groaned.

Sasha turned on the torch in her phone.

“What happened?”

“Blown fuses, but I am too tired to care. What time is it?”

“Uh...” The torch turned off. “Seven.”

“AM or PM?”

“PM. It isn't the middle of winter yet. Have you eaten anything?”

“Not a lot.”

“I didn't bring groceries. If I drove you to the shop, would you get some?”

“I think I would be able to. Also I wouldn't trust you with groceries. It was really shellfish from you to take me to that restaurant with a pirate and then take a vegan option.”

“Wahey! A good pun! Well, it's not my fault you got sick. Where is the fusebox?”

“Assuming you're still by the door, turn around.”

Sasha clicked a few things. The fridge started to hum, but there was no light. Sasha opened the fridge. There was no light.

“I feel betrayed.”

“Even fridge light?”

“Yes.”

Martin yawned, stood up, regretted it, sat down, stood up and trotted towards Sasha.

“That is just unfair. Well, at least I don’t have anything that would spoil anymore.”

Sasha closed the cooler.

“So, how many lightbulbs?”

“Just enough to inconvenience both of us.”

“We could go somewhere and get them, you know?”

“Yeah, but I am still a bit under the weather. Tomorrow I’ll ask Tim. Or Jon.”

“I am taller than both of them.”

“I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

“It’s no problem.”

* * *

Imagine casually going to Tesco half a day after after a book you burned turned the lights in the whole building off. Imagine being almost bound to one of the cursed books yourself once, just to leave the damned book behind.

Imagine... The only way out being not signing another contract after a woman that tried to take care of you finally died, and using that freedom only to become a painter. It really didn't pay well enough to be an artist and burn dreadful books on the weekends. Imagine trying your best anyway.

A visibly unwell manlet stumbled into the same Tesco, looking a bit winded. Imagine judging the manlet in an ill-fitting jumper slightly, then noticing the freckles on his face. Imagine his hair being windswept, his eyes both bright and the darkest, most welcoming shade of brown. Imagine noticing a few strands of grey, so similar to Oliver's when you met him, when he was sneaking into Gertrude’s office in full End regalia and a labcoat covered in seaweeds.

Imagine reaching for something and accidentally brushing the manlet's hand with your hand, after which he apologises. Imagine his face when you reach for a paintbrush, inspired, and the want to draw his face in a bout of inspiration, to connect the small dots, make them constellations.

Imagine seeing the manlet again, walking right behind you after getting out of a car. Imagine not being surprised when you hold the door for him with your hand covered in tattoos of closed eyes.

Imagine seeing the friend of the manlet, a tall lady with hair that is beautiful but slightly damaged, in a way that yours almost was many times meeting him and talking loudly about lamps and light bulbs, and wanting to be included for once. Imagine seeing your own face in a mirror and the tattoo of a closed eye on your neck healing well. Imagine seeing the friend of the manlet who sees you.

Imagine little curious shadow hands hugging you in a semblance of human touch during painting of the safe darkness of mixed Burnt Sienna and Prussian Blue on a bright canvas.

Imagine the tired shadow of Oliver shrugging off his coat and the soft reassurance that he would not leave anytime soon. Imagine the disbelief that is so far away yet believe.

Imagine being there being a bad ending for someone, getting sad, getting back to warm black of the paint, a shadow and light, constellations, wind and cold.

* * *

Martin was freezing. His blanket fell. Sasha left after cooking with him and watching Tim's favourite movie. Of all things, a TV worked perfectly, but none of the lights. The phone charger was found; not the long one, that one was still overseas with Helen, but the shorter one.

The amount of worried notifications bricked his phone for awhile when he checked it.

The room was still dark. It was 4am, no dreams remembered.

The last message was from Jon. That Jon who seemed to hate him after he accidentally let the dog in. That Jon who always seemed to have their head in the clouds and heard humming songs of bands never known to Martin.

That Jon who was unfairly good-looking despite going grey early and having blue eyes, and being so tired, constantly.

That Jon who…

Martin fumbled with his phone and accidentally called him. He hoped Jon would not pick up. He did.

“Hello? Martin?”

Martin found his phone.

“Hi Jon, sorry to call you so early. It was an accident.”

“A happy one, I suppose. How are you holding up there?”

“Just peachy. And you?”

“I am alright. Tim was really worried about you, you know?”

“Really?” Martin was astonished. It was odd, being cared about.

“Yes, he almost talked my ear off when you didn’t show up.”

“I am using my sick leave to the full extent, there is no way you will get me back into the archives sooner than that, even if Tim insists.”

“And I am happy about that, Martin.” Martin heard a soft sigh, and a smile in the voice of Jon. “The Institute is a dreadful place to be.”

“Because we collect fear stories?”

“More than fear stories, Elias has been nagging me a lot recently as if he didn’t know I work for Fairchilds first and for the Institute second. My contract is not binding me at all, I negotiated that.”

“He can’t be that bad, can he?”

“He absolutely can. I have a bunch of theories about him. Talk to Sasha and Tim abut him, they are pretty close.”

“Right. Has anything changed since I left?”

“He hired another person, so now the number of the people in the Institute is a prime number, which is bugging him. Hard to do budgeting.”

“Really?!”

“Tim has refused to record statements after one of them knocked him out cold. So to digitise them – now there is someone scanning them and cleaning the text suggested by OCR. Or typing them out if a scanner refuses to work.”

“It will make them accessible, right? If someone needed a screen-reader that would help.”

“Yeah. Honestly I would rather bogosort the whole place because the interests of The Institute are not mine, but sometimes people need to find something.”

“Bogosort?”

“Throw all the papers into the air many times and hope they would be in a correct position. Without reading any of them.”

“Well, that’s not what archives usually do.”

“I think not one of us knows how Archives should work, Martin. I saw Sasha stapling statements. It makes the paper deteriorate faster. I didn’t stop her because that’s just simply not my business.”

“And Tim?”

“I saw him search “how to archive” not long ago. He was the one to discourage Sasha from using her stapler after that.”

“Well, it’s not like he got any education for that. Neither do I.”

“The night is beautiful. The sky is singing as always and I want to sing back, but I feel as if that was always somewhat discordant.”

“Jon…” Martin looked into the same sky as Jon. “Could you please try and sing anyway? I have never heard the sky. If that’s not a problem.”

“I just told you that my voice doesn’t do it justice.”

“Well, at least I will know how, approximately.”

“I’ll sing in the office, when you come back.” Martin heard a smile in Jon’s voice. “Or rather at the rooftop. I will be able to see the sky.”

“I am looking forward to it then.”

“Did you want anything else?”

“Oh, right. There aren’t any working lightbulbs in my flat. Could you please help me get some and put them where they should be?”

“Sure. When?”

“In the afternoon when you get from work maybe?”

“That would work out.”

“So uh, I am not stopping you from talking to the sky now. Bye!”

“Bye, stay safe out there.”

Three beeps. Martin turned off the phone to glance one more at the sky just before the sunrise.


	2. A/N

Dearest readers,

I am sorry, but I am rewriting the chapters and thus when I publish a changed version of the first one, I will delete further ones just so it won't be so jarring. And I promise, I have been plotting this out and now that I mess with the timelines... I would rather avoid the confusion.

Sometimes one needs to write themselves into an idea and those four chapters were just that - first draft with no logic or continuity. The best way to start writing is to start writing, but the plot hole has been annoying me. To darn something, it's best to take off the garment, and I think that if I change a few things it will all become better, especially if I patch some holes.

Those aren't small changes; I have been furiously taking notes and checking the transcripts, as I generally don't remember first seasons of things I watch or listen to.

See you soon,

Nikola

TL:DR a complete overhaul is underway, chapters 2, 3, and 4 will no longer be available in their current form.


End file.
